I'll make her brew the beverage herself,
With her own fingers stir the cap,
And know't is poison as she drinks it.
Harold.
Had Linton been about to renew an acquaintance with one he had scarcely
known before, and who might possibly have ceased to remember him, his
manner could not have been more studiously diffident and respectful.
“I rejoice to see your Ladyship here,” said he, in a low, deliberate
voice, “where, on the last time we spoke together, you seemed uncertain
of coming.”
“Very true, Mr. Linton,” said she, not looking up from her work; “my
Lord had not fully made up his mind.”
“Say, rather, your Ladyship had changed yours,” said he, with a cold
smile,--“a privilege you are not wont to deny yourself.”
“I might have exercised it oftener in life with advantage,” replied she,
still holding her head bent over the embroidery frame.
“Don't you think that your Ladyship and I are old friends enough to
speak without innuendo?”
“If we speak at all,” said she, with a low but calm accent.
“True, that is to be thought of,” rejoined he, with an unmoved quietude
of voice. “Being in a manner prepared for a change in your Ladyship's
sentiments towards me--”
“Sir!” said she, interrupting, and as suddenly raising her face, which
was now covered with a deep blush.
“I trust I have said nothing to provoke reproof,” said Linton, coldly.
“Your Ladyship is well aware if my words be not true. I repeat it,
then,--your sentiments _are_ changed towards me, or--the alteration is
not of _my_ choosing--I was deceived in the expression of them when last
we met.”
“It may suit your purpose, sir, but it can scarcely conform to the
generosity of a gentleman, to taunt me with acceding to your request for
a meeting. If any other weakness can be alleged against me, pray let me
hear it.”
“When we last met,” said Linton, in a voice of lower and deeper meaning
than before, “we did so that I might speak, and _you_ hear, the avowal
of a passion which for years has filled my heart--against which I
have struggled and fought in vain--to stifle which I have plunged into
dissipations that I detested, and followed ambitions I despised--to
obliterate all memory of which I would stoop to crime itself, rather
than suffer on in the hopeless misery I must do.”
“I will hear no more of this,” said she, pushing back the work-table,
and preparing to rise.
“You must and you shall hear me, madam,” said he, replacing the table
and affecting to arrange it for her. “I conclude you do not wish this
amiable company to arbitrate between us.”
“Oh, sir! is it thus you threaten me?”
“You should say compromise, madam. There can be no threat where a common
ruin impends on all concerned.”
“To what end all this, Mr. Linton?” said she. “You surely cannot expect
from me any return to a feeling which, if it once existed, you yourself
were the means of uprooting forever. Even _you_ could scarcely be
ungenerous enough to persecute one for whose misery you have done
already too much.”
“Will you accept my arm for half an hour?” cried he, interrupting. “I
pledge myself it shall be the last time I either make such a request, or
even allude to this topic between us. On the pretence of showing you the
house, I may be able--if not to justify myself--nay, I see how little
you care for that--well, at least to assure you that I have no other
wish, no other hope, than to see you happy.”
“I cannot trust you,” said she, in a tone of agitation; “already we are
remarked.”
“So I perceive,” said he, in an undertone; then added, in a voice
audible enough to be heard by the rest, “I am too vain of my
architectural merits to leave their discovery to chance; and as you
are good enough to say you would like to see the house, pray will your
Ladyship accept my arm while I perform the cicerone on myself?”
The _coup_ succeeded, and, to avoid the difficulty and embarrassment
a refusal would have created, Lady Kilgoff arose, and prepared to
accompany him.
“Eh, what--what is't, my Lady?” said Lord Kilgoff, suddenly awaking from
a kind of lethargic slumber, as she whispered some words in his ear.
“Her Ladyship is telling you not to be jealous, my Lord, while she is
making the tour of the house with Mr. Linton,” said Lady Janet, with a
malicious sparkle of her green eyes.
“Why not make it a royal progress?” said Sir Harvey. “Her Majesty the
Queen might like it well.”
“Her Majesty likes everything that promises amusement,” said the wild
romp; “come, Charley, give us your arm.
“No, I 've got a letter or two to write,” said he, rudely; “there 's
Upton or Jennings quite ready for any foolery.”
“This is too bad!” cried she; and through all the pantomime of mock
royalty, a real tear rose to her eyes, and rolled heavily down her
cheek; then, with a sudden change of humor, she said, “Mr. Cashel, will
_you_ take me?”
The request was too late, for already he had given his arm to Lady
Janet,--an act of devotion he was performing with the expression of a
saint under martyrdom.
“Sir Harvey,--there's no help for it,--we are reduced to _you_.”
But Sir Harvey was leaving the room with Olivia Kenny-feck. In fact,
couples paired off in every direction; the only disengaged cavalier
being Sir Andrew MacFarline, who, with a sardonic grin on his features,
came hobbling forward, as he said,--
“Te maunna tak sich long strides, Missy, if ye ga wf me, for I've got a
couple o' ounces of Langredge shot in my left knee--forbye the gout in
both ankles.”
“I say, Jim,” called out Lord Charles, as she moved away, “if you like
to ride Princepino this afternoon, he's-ready for you.”
“Are _you_ going?” said she, turning her head.
“Yes.”
“Then _I'll_ not go.” And so saying, she left the room.
When Linton, accompanied by Lady Kilgoff, issued from the drawing-room,
instead of proceeding through the billiard-room towards the suite which
formed the “show” part of the mansion, he turned abruptly to his left,
and, passing through a narrow corridor, came out upon a terrace, at the
end of which stood a large conservatory, opening into the garden.
“I ask pardon,” said he, “if I reverse the order of our geography, and
show you the frontiers of the realm before we visit the capital; but
otherwise we shall only be the advance-guard of that interesting company
who have nothing more at heart than to overhear us.”
Lady Kilgoff walked along without speaking, at his side, having
relinquished the support of his arm with a stiff, frigid courtesy. Had
any one been there to mark the two-figures, as side by side they went,
each deep in thought, and not even venturing a glance at the other, he
might well have wondered what strange link could connect them. It was
thus they entered the conservatory, where two rows of orange-trees
formed a lane of foliage almost impenetrable to the eye.
“As this may be the last time we shall ever speak together in secret--”
“You have promised as much, sir,” said she, interrupting; and the very
rapidity of her utterance betrayed the eagerness of her wish.
“Be it so, madam,” replied he, coldly, and with a tone of sternness very
different from that he had used at first. “I have ever preferred your
wishes to my own. I shall never prove false to that allegiance. As we
are now about to speak on terms which never can be resumed, let us at
least be frank. Let us use candor with each other. Even unpleasing truth
is better at such a moment than smooth-tongued insincerity.”
“This preamble does not promise well,” said Lady Kilgoff, with a cold
smile.
“Not, perhaps, for the agreeability of our interview, but it may save us
both much time and much temper. I have said that you are changed towards
me.”
“Oh, sir! if I had suspected that this was to be the theme--” She
stopped, and seemed uncertain, when he finished the speech for her.
“You would never have accorded me this meeting. Do be frank, madam, and
spare me the pain of self-inflicted severity. Well, I will not impose
upon your kindness,--nor indeed was such my intention, if you had but
heard me out. Yes, madam, I should have told you that while I deplore
that alteration, I no more make you chargeable with it, than _you_ can
call _me_ to account for cherishing a passion without a hope. Both one
and the other are independent of us. That one should forget and the
other remember is beyond mere volition.”
He waited for some token of assent, some slight evidence of concurrence;
but none came, and he resumed:
“When first I had the happiness of being distinguished by some slight
show of your preference, there were many others who sought with
eagerness for that position I was supposed to occupy in your favor. It
was the first access of vanity in my heart, and it cost me dearly. Some
envied me; some scoffed; some predicted that my triumph would be a brief
one; some were rude enough to say that I was only placed like a buoy,
to show the passage, and that I should lie fast at anchor while others
sailed on with prosperous gale and favoring fortune. You, madam, best
know which of these were right. I see that I weary you. I can conceive
how distasteful all these memories must be, nor should I evoke them
without absolute necessity. To be brief, then, you are now about to play
over with another the very game by which you once deceived me. It is
your caprice to sacrifice another to your vanity; but know, madam, the
liberties which the world smiled at in Miss Gardiner will be keenly
criticised in the Lady Kilgoff. In the former case, the most malevolent
could but hint at a _mésalliance_; in the latter, evil tongues can take
a wider latitude. To be sure, the fascinating qualities of the suitor,
his wealth, his enviable position, will plead with some; my Lord's
age and decrepitude will weigh with others: but even these charitable
persons will not spare _you_. Your own sex are seldom over-merciful in
their judgments. Men are unscrupulous enough to hint that there was no
secret in the matter; some will go further, and affect to say that they
themselves were not unfavorably looked on.”
“Will you give me a chair, sir?” said she, in a voice which, though
barely above a whisper, vibrated with intense passion. Linton hastened
to fetch a seat, his whole features glowing with the elation of his
vengeance. This passed rapidly away, and as he placed the chair for her
to sit down, his face had resumed its former cold, almost melancholy
expression.
“I hope you are not ill?” said he, with an air of feeling.
A glance of the most ineffable scorn was her only reply.
“It is with sincere sorrow that I inflict this pain upon you,--indeed,
when I heard of that unhappy yacht excursion, my mind was made up to see
Lord Kilgoff the very moment of his arrival, and, on any pretence, to
induce him to leave this. This hope, however, was taken from me, when
I beheld the sad state into which he had fallen, leaving me no other
alternative than to address yourself. I will not hurt your ears by
repeating the inventions, each full of falsehood, that heralded your
arrival here. The insulting discussions how you should be met--whether
your conduct had already precluded your acceptance amongst the circle of
your equals--or, that you were only a subject of avoidance to mothers of
marriageable daughters, and maiden ladies of excessive virtue. You have
mixed in the world, and therefore can well imagine every ingenious turn
of this peculiar eloquence. How was I--I who have known--I who--nay,
madam, not a word shall pass my lips in reference to that theme--I would
only ask, Could I hear these things, could I see your foot nearing the
cliff, and not cry out, Stop?--Another step, and you are lost! There
are women who can play this dangerous game with cool heads and cooler
hearts: schooled in all the frigid indifference that would seem the
birthright of a certain class, the secrets of their affections die with
them; but you are not one of these. Born in what they would call an
humbler, but I should call a far higher sphere, where the feelings are
fresher and the emotions purer, _you_ might chance to--fall in love!”
A faint smile, so faint that it conveyed no expression to her eyes, was
Lady Kilgoff's acknowledgment of these last words.
“Have you finished, sir?” said she, as, after a pause of some seconds,
he stood still.
“Not yet, madam,” replied he, dryly.
“In that case, sir, would it not be as well to tell the man who is
lingering yonder to leave this? except, perhaps, it may be your desire
to have a witness to your words.”
Linton started, and grew deadly pale; for he now perceived that the
man must have been in the conservatory during the entire interview.
Hastening round to where he stood, his fears were at once dispelled;
for it was the Italian sailor, Giovanni, who, in the multiplicity of his
accomplishments, was now assisting the gardener among the plants.
“It is of no consequence, madam,” said he, returning; “the man is an
Italian, who understands nothing of English.”
“_You_ are always fortunate, Mr. Linton,” said she, with a deep emphasis
on the pronoun.
“I have ceased to boast of my good luck for many a day.”
“Having, doubtless, so many other qualities to be proud of,” said she,
with a malicious sparkle of her dark eyes.
“The question is now, madam, of one far more interesting than me.”
“Can that be possible, sir? Is any one's welfare of such moment to his
friends--to the world at large--as the high-minded, the honorable, the
open-hearted Mr. Linton, who condescends, for the sake of a warning
to his young friends, to turn gambler and ruin them; while he has the
daring courage to single out a poor unprotected woman, without one who
could rightly defend her, and, under the miserable mask of interest, to
insult her?”
“Is it thus you read my conduct, madam?” said he, with an air at once
sad and reproachful.
“Not altogether, Mr. Linton. Besides the ineffable pleasure of giving
pain, I perceive that you are acquitting a debt,--the debt of hate you
owe me; because--But I cannot descend to occupy the same level with you
in this business. My reply to you is a very short one. Your insult to me
must go unpunished; for, as you well know, I have not one to resent it.
You have, however, introduced another name in this discussion; to
that gentleman I will reveal all that you have said this day. The
consequences may be what they will, I care not; I never provoked them.
You best know, sir, how the reckoning will fare with you.”
Linton grew pale, almost lividly so, while he bit his lip till the very
blood came; then, suddenly recovering himself, he said: “I am not
aware of having mentioned a name. I think your Ladyship must have been
mistaken; but”--and here he laughed slightly--“you will scarce succeed
in sowing discord between me and my old friend, Lord Charles Frobisher.”
“Lord Charles Frobisher!” echoed she, almost stunned with the
effrontery.
“You seem surprised, madam. I trust your Ladyship meant no other.”
The insolence of his manner, as he said this, left her unable for some
minutes to reply, and when she did speak, it was with evident effort.
“I trust now, sir, that we have spoken for the last time together. I
own--and it is, indeed, humiliation enough to own it--your words have
deeply insulted me. I cannot deny you the satisfaction of knowing this;
and yet, with all these things before me, I do not hate--I only despise
you.”
So saying, she moved towards the door; but Linton stepped forward, and
said: “One instant, madam. You seem to forget that we are pledged to
walk through the rooms; our amiable friends are doubtless looking for
us.”
“I will ask Mr. Cashel to be my chaperon another time,” said she,
carelessly, and, drawing her shawl around her, passed out, leaving
Linton alone in the conservatory.
“Ay, by St Paul! the work goes bravely on,” cried he, as soon as she had
disappeared. “If she ruin not him and herself to boot, now, I am sore
mistaken. The game is full of interest, and, if I had not so much in
hand, would delight me.”
With this brief soliloquy, he turned to where the Italian was standing,
pruning an orange-tree.
“Have you learned any English yet, Giovanni?”
A slight but significant gesture of one finger gave the negative.
“No matter, your own soft vowels are in more request here. The dress I
told you of is now come,--my servant will give it to you; so, be ready
with your guitar, if the ladies wish for it, this evening.”
Giovanni bowed respectfully, and went on with his work, and soon after
Linton strolled into the garden to muse over the late scene.
Had any one been there to mark the signs of triumphant elation on his
features, they would have seen the man in all the sincerity of his bold,
bad heart. His success was perfect. Knowing well the proud nature of
the young, high-spirited woman, thoroughly acquainted with her impatient
temper and haughty character, he rightly foresaw that to tell her she
had become the subject of a calumny was to rouse her pride to confront
it openly. To whisper that the world would not admit of this or that,
was to make her brave that world, or sink under the effort.
To sting her to such resistance was his wily game, and who knew better
how to play it? The insinuated sneers at the class to which she had once
belonged, as one not “patented” to assume the vices of their betters,
was a deep and most telling hit; and he saw, when they separated, that
her mind was made up, at any cost and every risk, to live down the
slander by utter contempt of it Linton asked for no more. “Let
her,” said he to himself, “but enter the lists with the world for an
adversary! I 'll give her all the benefits of the best motives,--as much
purity of heart, and so forth, as she cares for; but, 'I 'll name the
winner,' after all.”
Too true. The worthy people who fancy that an innate honesty of purpose
can compensate for all the breaches of conventional use, are like the
volunteers of an army who refuse to wear its uniform, and are as often
picked down by their allies as by their enemies.